His Sin and Her Soul
by xdobby13
Summary: Poor Bulma. All she wants is to be treated like an adult, like an equal. But at the tender age of 17, no one is giving her what she truly desires. But then, someone new comes along. Someone who makes her feel like a woman. Someone who makes her feel whole, in a thrilling, wrong-but-oh-so-right way. Too bad he's completely and utterly off limits.
1. Fire For You

The poignant skies glared down on me, casting a desolate shadow over my petite form. I ran my toes over the coarse grass, feeling the blades curl under the soles of my feet. It was a Saturday afternoon. One of those really gloomy Saturday afternoons that always left me reconsidering my life choices. Something about overcast weather evoked a deep-rooted depression within me. But really, I was trying to work on my dramatics.

Daddy was having his close friends over today. I'd say they were my friends too, if they weren't so much older than I. There was Goku who had practically been with me since I came out of the womb. Sixteen who I didn't know quite as well but was kind just the same. Launch, the purple haired beauty who I had admired dearly until I deduced how brainless she was. And Krillin. I was closest to Krillin.

Daddy told me there was someone else coming today, someone he had looked after as a teenager. I wondered why he would want to spend time with a kid he used to babysit, but he insisted that he was very mature, despite being seven years his junior. I did a mental calculation; that would make the mystery fellow 35. Certainly younger than the rest of my father's friends, but no one that would see me as a worthy conversationalist.

It killed me. I was 17, not seven. At my tender age, I was still light years more intelligent than any of my father's companions. And yet, they treated me as baby Bulma, the blue-haired, spunky little girl who used to run around the Capsule Corporation grounds in her understand. I wasn't someone to be belittled, I was someone to be celebrated. Daddy told me I already had a position in the company secured by the time I graduated college.

I didn't even see the point in attending, but the prestige was necessary. I was certain there was nothing a Calculus III professor could surprise me with, but I needed the credits to achieve success.

I heard a distant clattering in the kitchen and figured the guests had begun to arrive. I supposed it was time to crawl out from under the old Oak and greet my father's friends, but nothing sounded less pleasant than forced socializing with people who didn't fully understand me.

"Bulma!" I heard my mother's chipper voice break the calm silence that was bubbling around me. I begrudgingly strolled back into our compound, plastering a pristine smile across my face.

I liked my father's friends. I really loved them, in fact. But there comes a point when you don't want to be "little Bulma" anymore. You want people to look at you as an adult. I'm definitely fairly arrogant and wildly intelligent for my age, so I craved that respect with a vehement vigor.

When I entered the parlor, everyone was gathered around, sipping various beverages contently. They all looked up at me as I took a seat next to Goku and cheered. I blushed. The attention was nice, yes, but meant for a child. It bothered me.

"Hey, babe!" Goku greeted me warmly, engulfing me in a bone-crushing embrace.

"Hey, Goku! I missed you," I told him, resting my knee against his. "How've you been? When was the last time I saw you? Gohan's birthday?"

My father's best friend rubbed his chin. "I think so, babe. Gosh, that was so long ago! I'll take you out to lunch soon, just the two of us."

I was enjoying my conversation with Goku. Whenever I spoke with him privately, he treated me more as a teenager than a little girl, which was certainly better, even if it wasn't necessarily adult status. "Sounds lovely. Our usual place?"

"Only the best for you," he joked, a twinkle sparkling in his ebony eyes. Goku was so youthful as a personality that it always astounded me to see the crow's feet around his eyes. He was physically aging, but he would always be the same. He would always laugh at the same jokes.

"Bulma, sweetie," Launch stirred me from my conversation with Goku. "How is school?"

"It's fine now, but junior year has been pretty hectic," I told her honestly. "At least summer is coming up, yeah?"

She smiled at me, sympathy coating her dark eyes. "Ah, yes. Junior year. I remember how I thought it was the worst experience ever, you know, when I was your age. But when you get older, you'll miss school."

I felt my blood heat slightly. There it came, the old schpiel about how I should appreciate my youth and yada yada. I knew it wasn't Launch's intention to be condescending, but I always felt so belittled when she talked to me that way. I had far greater worries than she did, and I was also much younger! Not that there was anything wrong with her occupation, but she lived at home and took care of the kids while her husband, Tien, worked.

I managed school, an internship with Capsule Corp, and a part-time job at a mechanic's shop down the road. It was a lot. And I loved it all. I mean, I wasn't doing it for the money, I just fucking loved mechanics. Being an engineer was ingrained into my DNA, I was fairly sure. I loved to get lost in a project while blasting Taylor Swift and come home covered in grease and flushed with a rush of endorphins.

I heard some commotion spiraling from the front end of my house. My father was speaking to a man whom I did not know. He had tall, spiked hair and what seemed like a permanent furrow in his thick brows. He was wearing a thin, black shirt and dark jeans. His arms were folded across his chest as though he needed to be defensive about something. He had pale, pink lips (which I caught myself staring at for more than an appropriate amount of time) that were curled upward in a tantalizing smirk.

I nudged Goku. "Who's that?"

Goku looked up to inspect whom I was pointing at and rose his eyebrows. "Oh, wow! That's Vegeta. I haven't heard from him in years. Your dad used to look after him when we were kids. But I remember him being really mature for his age."

My father and the so-called Vegeta began walking over to where Goku and I were lounging. "Bulma, dear, I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is Vegeta Ouji." He gestured to Vegeta, and I looked up at him, my breath hitching in the back of my throat when our eyes met.

God, I was a loser. He had bottomless, enchanting, onyx orbs as opposed to normal, black eyes. They were frightening and enthralling, all at the same time. I just wanted to stare into them. I didn't want to look away.

I inwardly shook myself, knowing I must look like a doofus to Vegeta. "Hi, I'm Bulma. It's great to meet you." I extended my hand for him to shake, and he accepted it, rather slowly, as though he wanted to draw it out. My stomach must have dropped right out of me when our hands touched. I felt electrified as his eyes pierced into mine.

"Hi, Bulma," he said, his hoarse voice caressing my name seductively. I shuddered with delight.

_Fuck_.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, hi again. I know I'm starting _another _new story, but this idea came at me, and I just could not ignore so. So, I hope you like it. If any of you have read the lovely _Lolita_ by Vladimir Nabokov, well...I'll just leave you with that.

_Please _review! This story is going to be so dope, I already know it. That might sound conceited, but the plot has just got me so thrilled, and I can't wait to share it all with you. But I can't share it unless you let me know you want to hear more from me, so once again, _please _review!

I love you all. If you haven't, check out my other stories, _Her Brave Spirit _and _Burning Sunsets and Lost Nights _(also centralized on Bulma & Vegeta because they're the fucking best couple ever).

Later! xx Aisha


	2. Coffee & Tea

My white dress was backless. Two thin straps held it up. It was skimpy in that innocent, delicate way. I stared at my reflection in my vanity as I painted my lips a pale, pink color and twisted my vibrant, blue hair into a relaxed bun atop my head. A few, loose strands dangled, tickling my nape. I pinched my cheeks harshly to draw out that flushed look that always made me look like I was coming off a particularly powerful orgasm.

Vegeta was coming over today. My father had invited him for some afternoon tea and had asked me to join them. At this point, I knew there was certainly something wrong with me, but I just couldn't find it within myself to care. He was 35. I was 17. He was my daddy's friend. And my heart pounded for him just after one meeting.

I spritzed a perfume along my breast bone and rubbed a shimmering lotion into the hollow of my neck and my collarbone. I pursed my lips and began to make my way downstairs. I knew he was already here, and the thought of him sipping tea in my backyard, of his smirk, of his pouty, dreamlike lips made me drip with anticipation.

I didn't know what I was hoping to achieve with dressing this way. Who knew if Vegeta would even go for such a young girl? But the attraction I felt for him was pulverizing. I wanted to rip that black shirt off of him and pepper his skin with fiery kisses. I wanted to entangle my fingers in that wild mane. I wanted him to throw me over a desk and fuck me senseless.

As I was passing the kitchen, I composed myself. I was practically panting aloud at this point. I was afraid if I saw him, I would just jump into his lap. I stepped onto the patio and lost my balance slightly at the sight of Vegeta.

He was wearing a white dress shirt, and it was only buttoned up to his mid-chest. He was wearing those devilish, dark jeans again. He was taking a long draw of his Corona. So, he wasn't a tea drinker—interesting.

"Um, hi," I said meekly. I wanted to throw myself into a dragon's mouth. That was the _lamest _entrance possible.

My father and Vegeta turned at the sound of my voice. Daddy grinned. "Bulma! Come join us. You remember my daugher, Bulma, right, Vegeta?"

"Hello, Bulma," he said slowly, instead of answering the question. My mind began racing: what did that mean?

I sat down next to him and began fixing myself a cup of tea, adding three sugars instead of two because I was so distracted. I thought I spotted a ghost of a smirk playing on Vegeta's lips as I poured coffee into my tea instead of milk.

There was a deafening silence mingling around our table. My mother needed to come out here; nothing was ever silent when Bunny Brief was near. I discerned that Vegeta was not the most talkative of people, and my father was currently preoccupied by something on his iPhone.

I decided to tamper with my luck. "It's great to see you again, Vegeta."

His eyes flashed to mine when my words grazed his ears. He smirked but said nothing. His foot brushed mine, and it could have been an accident, in fact it probably was, but my heart clenched so tightly in my chest, and I blushed furiously in response. My father chose that moment to rejoin the conversation.

"Bulma, why don't you tell Vegeta about the project you've been working on?" He asked. "Bulma's such a genius, you know, Vegeta? She really took after her old man," he teased.

"Dad, I'm not a genius. Please stop," I scolded him. I was trying to be mature, for Vegeta. But I kept stumbling through my words. I turned to Vegeta. "I've been working on a line of capsules that already come filled with equipment, supplies, clothes, you know. Lately, I've been assembling a line that'll be focused on the younger generation. There's the makeup capsule, and outfit capsule, and a few others," I told him in my most business-like tone.

"Brilliant," he complimented, taking another long, tantalizing gulp of his beer. He tipped the bottle, so the light golden liquid poured into his mouth, his eyes closed in blissful content. The sun was setting behind him, casting a effervescent glare over his shoulder. I was fairly certain he knew I was enthralled by him.

"Yes, my Bulma is going to reinvent this company. I already know it," my dad said, and I had to halt myself before I rolled my eyes. Daddy was always talking about me as though I was still a little girl. I was frankly one of the most beneficial contributors to the company, yet it was still a miracle every time I conveyed a new idea to him. It was ridiculous.

"Thanks, dad," I said through gritted teeth. He winked at me.

"Of course, love," he said and then glanced at his watch. "Oh, damn! I've got to be on a conference call right now. It should only take about fifteen minutes, please excuse me." He got up from his seat and walk straight back into the house, leaving me and Vegeta to eerie isolation. About four hours ago, I would have killed for this close proximity. But when the opportunity presented itself, I wanted to run back into the house and just watch _The Vampire Diaries _until he left.

I glanced to my left, at Vegeta, and felt my heart pounding against my ribs. I wondered if he could hear it; it was that loud. I had to get myself out of here. "Well, um, I've got some homework to do...Big economics test tomorrow!" I lied through my teeth, scooting my chair back. It made a scratchy sound as it scraped the cobblestone patio.

Vegeta placed his hand on the back of my chair, halting my efforts to run away. "Stay. Stay for a few minutes, Bulma."

I nodded slowly, my body reacting to his request like a reflex. My brain never stood a chance, did it? "Okay," I whispered obediently. God, I was such a moron!

"Good," he murmured back, removing his hand from the back of my chair. "What's your test on?"

_Fuck, there _was_ no test_. I ran my fingers through my hair, unintentionally messing with my bun slightly. "Oh, it's on welfare economics and the indifference curve…"

"Do you like economics?" He asked, the sunset causing his eyes to glint. He was really mesmerizing.

I shrugged, my anxiety dimming as we conversed. "I do but not as much as some of the other classes I'm taking."

"What _do _you like, Bulma?" He pushed, as he took another sip. I was once again captured by the way my name spilled out of his immaculate mouth.

I smiled. "I love physics—so much. I also like psychology and auto shop."

"Auto shop?"

"Yeah. I love fixing cars, really any kind of machine. It gives me a sense of control in a really chaotic world," I explained, taking a sip of my tea, which was really a disgusting melange of coffee and tea. I made a face as I swallowed the putrid drink. Vegeta laughed.

"I've never met anyone who likes to mix their coffee and tea," he told me, smirking as usual. Oh, the audacity of this guy!

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, shush," I exclaimed brazenly. "It was a mistake. And I can't believe you noticed that."

"It was hard not to notice you, Bulma," he said.

I think my insides were having a party. There was definitely some screaming occurring in the pit of my stomach. I think I was smiling more than when I met Stephen Hawking. That was a lie—I've never smiled that widely in all my life. This moment came pretty close, though. "Why not?" I asked, scooting slightly closer to him.

He shook his head. "Well, you're not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"The way your father talks about you, you'd think you were nine years old. You're definitely more mature than I thought you were. How old are you?" I flushed at his explanation. _Someone _finally thought I was mature, that I was a woman.

"I'm 17," I said. "And thanks. People always belittle me, and it gets really fucking annoying—excuse my language."

"No, I get it. It _is _fucking annoying. You're clearly not...young at all," he said, his eyes raking my frame. I bit my lip hesitantly, wondering what to say.

"You're not what I expected either, Vegeta," I told him, pulling my hair out of the restricting bun and letting it cascade down my shoulders. His eyes never left mine. "All my dad's friends treat me that way, like I'm little Bulma or something. I thought you'd do that too."

"It's probably because they've known you for so long," he suggested, taking another sip of his Corona. "If they met you right now, they certainly wouldn't have that image of you, so don't let it bother you."

There was something in the way he spoke. It was aloof, but I wanted to listen to him. I wanted to take his advice. No matter all the times my friends told me to ignore the condescending treatment, I never listened to them. But it seemed veritable coming from him. There was an authority in his aura. There was also a danger, and I wanted him to touch me, scar me with that danger.

"I won't," I agreed, actually meaning it for the first time. "So where did you come from, Vegeta? Why'd you and my father get back in touch after all these years?"

Vegeta turned in his chair and rested his angular face on his palm. "I ran into your father at a business meeting a few weeks. We had lunch a couple of times, and then he invited me over for that party."

"So, what'd he say about me?" I pressed, turning slightly in my chair as well. We were a mere few inches apart; I felt his warm breath, barely tainted with alcohol, tickling my bottom lip. It was jutted out, and I was pouting a bit. I wanted to lean forward and feel him, but I held myself in check. Vegeta was a wildly dreamy recipe for disaster.

"He said that you're his precious baby girl," he teased.

"Well, he told me he used to babysit you, so I kept imagining you as a little kid," I shot back, earning an eyeroll from my dark companion.

"He also said you're very sweet. Guess he lied about that."

"Oh, wow! Not holding back, are we?" I said.

"Why would I? You can't handle it?" He asked, leaning a bit closer. I felt a heat spark between my thighs.

"Is that a challenge, Vegeta?" I taunted.

"It's—"

"I come bearing sandwiches!"

We both whipped around in our chairs to see my dad making his way across the patio. A hue of red was coating the apples of my cheeks. Vegeta looked completely impassive, as though nothing had happened between us. But maybe to him, it was just banter. I argued with Goku and Krillin all the time. Why should I assume it meant anything different with him, just because I wanted it to?

* * *

><p>The moonlight was shining through my window. It was dark in my room, it being well into the night. Tea with Vegeta and my father had been pretty awkward since my dad had "cockblocked" me. I'd excused myself about twenty minutes after to "tackle my economics test." What a load of bullshit.<p>

I was currently laying against my pillows, staring aimlessly at my ceiling, trying to get the image of Vegeta's perfect lips out of my mind. But it was to no avail.

Those eyes...I felt like he was undressing me when he looked at me with those eyes.

That smirk...He was so arrogant with that smirk, but it was so delicious, I didn't even care.

My hand began to travel south, ending up in my sweaty, dripping, nether regions. I pulled off my panties and began to brush a finger against my womanhood.

That hair, that voice. He was so authoritative. He was so commanding of his presence.

_Oh_, _Vegeta..._I increased my pressure, and my head fell back. I was gasping with pleasure—the pleasure that I wanted from _him_.

My desire for him was pooling beneath me, and I slipped a finger inside myself. "Oh, Vegeta…" I moaned as I pumped myself over and over again. It—He was heavenly.

I imagined him sliding his hands all over my fragile body. I pictured him squeezing my breasts with all his might, eliciting a forbidden whimper from me. I envisioned him pounding into me, his eyes, his ever-detached eyes, never leaving mine.

With one hand, I stroked myself, and with the other, I pushed myself into oblivion with only one man on my mind: Vegeta.

And in that moment, I swear, I knew I had to have him. _Whatever_ it took, I _had_ to have him.

* * *

><p>AN: Chapter 2! I hope you guys liked it.

Guys, please review! I'm gonna leave it up to _you _to let me know if you want an update. If you don't let me know, then I won't update.

P.S. I love you, Vivaan 3

- Aisha xx


	3. Reluctant Date

We were learning about the derivatives of trigonometric functions that day. Rather, the class was learning about them, and Leezy and I were in the back row discussing something mindless. I was doodling a particularly dark figure on my notebook when my calculus teacher hauled me up to the board to do a problem.

She probably thought I wasn't paying attention, and actually, she would be right in that assumption. But that didn't stop me from calculating the derivative of ln(1/(x2.67)) seamlessly. The side of my hand grazed the chalkboard, and when I removed it to admire my finished work, a bit of dust coated my fingers.

I sighed as I headed back to my desk. Truthfully, I had been rather down lately. I didn't really know what my irritable feelings were centralized on. Well, that wasn't completely true; if I let myself go there, it partially had to do with a certain someone whom I hadn't seen in a few weeks.

If he were just any other guy, I could have texted him, called him, met up with him—the options were endless. But he was my dad's friend. He was _thirty-five_. I couldn't approach him; I didn't know where to find him, anyway. I had no way of calling him. It wouldn't sound particularly normal to my father if I just went up to him and asked for his friend Vegeta's phone number now would it?

I soothed myself on the basis that Vegeta had to come back one day. My dad was one to maintain his friendships once he kindled them. He wouldn't just abandon this camaraderie with Vegeta...Would he? It killed me to envision a world where I would never see that painfully arrogant smirk again.

I backtracked for a moment, dropping the pen that I was using to paint Led Zeppelin lyrics on my book. I sounded _obsessed_. I was thinking about him constantly, always comparing him to the book characters or movie stars I came across. He was the first person that popped into my mind when I woke up, and I fell asleep each night imagining what his cock would feel like inside me. I had a problem. I was certifiably insane, wasn't I? How else could I felt such pure, unadulterated lust and desire for a man I barely knew—a man who was really _far_ too old for me?

I had to do something about this lousy crush, if I could even call it that. I had to deal with it before it got out of hand. I wasn't usually like this. I was Bulma Brief, an incredibly talented, competent, controlled, charismatic young woman. But the thought, mention, and glimpse of Vegeta turned me into everything I hated. Everything chaotic. He turned turned my world into entropy, and I didn't know what to do to stop him. Did I even have the power to stop him?

"What are you thinking about, Bulma?" Leezy whispered in my ear, squeezing my thigh lightly in an effort to comfort me.

I turned to my side to offer her a reassuring smile. She had such warm and welcoming eyes that screamed all things honey and happiness. Her auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders with effortless grace, and she was so thin in a perfectly modelesque way. Leezy really was a vision. I was very fortunate to call her my good friend, if not my sole friend in this hell hole—excuse me—_high school_.

"Nothing. Nothing, don't worry about it," I whispered back and cradled her hand in mine.

If only she knew the insane, fucked up, lustrous thoughts that were flickering around in my mind.

The craziness thrilled me. It frightened me, yes. I hated the lack of control that conquered me every time Vegeta mingled with my thoughts. But I felt vibrant. He ignited this burning fire that I had no power to extinguish. His dominance was consuming; I had been sucked into it after meeting him only twice. I wanted to soak him up.

I took a gulp of my chai and winked at Leezy.

* * *

><p>Two weeks had passed, and there was still no sign of him. I knew my father was still seeing him. He mentioned him occasionally at the dinner table; every now and then he spoke of a lunch or night out with Vegeta. But he never came here. This was getting out of hand, and I was fully aware of my inappropriate desire for him.<p>

I didn't know why he wouldn't come to the house, but as time passed, it became abundantly clear that Vegeta did not want me. Was I a fool to even entertain the thought in the first place? If he craved me, if he wanted to be with me, he would have made it clear. He just seemed like the kind of person who did not dabble in haziness and hesitance.

I had been canceling plans on the off chance that daddy might bring him home. And it was now glaring me right in the face how seriously I had taken this crush, this absolutely ridiculous infatuation.

A good looking boy had offered to take me out to dinner, and I had rejected his invitation for Vegeta. I paused for a moment to reflect on my idiocy. Rejecting someone kind and available, whom I even _liked_, for a man who was arrogant and completely beyond my reach? It was nonsensical. Unfortunately, everything I did lately fell into that category.

Leezy had suggested an impromptu drive along the coast to clear my thoughts, but I had even denied her: it was a Saturday evening, and maybe Vegeta would come over for dinner. An old friend Jax had invited me to a Strokes concert, but it was a Sunday afternoon: maybe he would come over for tea. Yamcha had asked me out, and I said no because there was someone else. _There was someone else_.

I couldn't believe I prided myself on my rationale. I knew it was time to "move on," but what was I even moving on from?

"Hey," I said once he picked up. "I would actually love to go to dinner with you."

I detected a faint exhale from his end of the line. "I'm glad, Bulma. When are you free?"

"Well, it is Friday. Are you free tonight?" I asked him, pressing the phone closer to my ear.

"Yes! That sounds wonderful. Pick you up at seven?"

"I'll be waiting," I responded cheekily before terminating the call. Perhaps my intentions with Yamcha were not entirely honorable. He certainly wasn't my first choice, but he was a good soul, and he made an effort to laugh at my jokes and reciprocate my opinions—even though he usually didn't understand them.

I pursed my lips as I glared at my reflection. There was a faintly purple hue under my eyes. I hadn't been very sleeping well. My skin was dry. I looked hollow, like I wasn't really there. I pushed away all self-critiquing thoughts and delved into my wardrobe, seeking an appropriate outfit for my night out with Yamcha. My attire had to be playful with a hint of sensibility.

I came out of my closet adorned in a thin, black sweater and a dark green, plaid skirt. I slipped on mid-thigh length black socks and ashen gray, Oxford heels. I grimaced at my reflection. I looked delicious, and I was confident enough to know that. But I also looked utterly devastated. Yamcha was attractive. He was a good amount of fun. We had quite a bit of mutual friends. What was not to like?

After patting my hair down, hoping it would gain some volume as the evening drew out, I glanced at the time: it was 6:50 P.M. I decided to gather my belongings and wait downstairs for Yamcha to arrive, having nothing else to preoccupy myself with in my room. As I walked down the stairs, careful not to trip in my heels, I heard a bit of commotion ensuing from the living room. I wondered who daddy had invited over.

Vegeta and I locked eyes instantly as I meandered into the living room. I lost my breath momentarily, forgetting how beautiful he was. The peak of his chest was teasing me, as his blue dress shirt was only buttoned so high. His quixotic eyes were deeply smoldering; I was drawn to them as I walked further into the room.

"Bulma! I thought you had left for your date already, darling, or I would have asked you to come down and join us," my father explained as he noticed my presence. I nodded gently, glancing at our guest for a reaction.

I silently grumbled when I saw that Vegeta's face did not change; in fact, he looked as impassive as ever. But he was staring at me with what I thought was a deadly intent. I felt like I was on fire when he looked at me, and all I wanted to do was burn.

"Yamcha is going to be here in a few minutes, daddy," I told him after I sat down on the ottoman next to Vegeta. I could feel the tension bubbling between us, but my pessimistic side scolded me, preaching that the tension was only in my head.

Vegeta coughed slightly, and I turned to face him. Our eyes met again, and once again did I feel like I was boiling under his gaze. I was certain that if my father weren't there, I would pounce on him—he looked that delectable.

"Bulma, you remember Vegeta, right?" My father asked me after a few moments of heated and undercover passion.

"Of course," I whispered. I realized belatedly that I sounded more seductive than I intended. Hastily trying to cover up my mistake, I asked, "How are you?"

He leaned towards me, and my heart stopped beating properly. Was he going to kiss me? My father was right there! Everything was moving in the slowest motion possible, and a lingering uncertainty pounded in my ears as each second ticked by. His eyes never left mine, and before I knew what was happening, he pressed his lips to my cheekbone for the briefest of moments. As he pulled away, I felt a searing pain pulverizing from where he had kissed me. My mouth was wet with anticipation. I wanted more; I wanted more of him; I wanted him to want me. I felt heat pooling between my thighs, my body craving Vegeta. I desired him, begged for him in the night, waited for him to sate my heat, to take away my pain and make me forget my own name.

But really, how many times had Goku kissed my cheek? _More times than I can count_, I discerned dejectedly.

"I am fine," he murmured, bringing me back to reality. "So you have a date tonight?"

"Yes," I answered.

The doorbell rang, and it broke the spell that was mingling between us. I had felt as though we were the only people on the planet, let alone my house, and when Yamcha arrived, that sultry air had shattered. My father got up to answer the door, leaving us alone for a few remaining moments. I blushed furiously as soon as he left.

"Bulma," he said. I looked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest, almost daring him to hear it.

"Bulma!" Yamcha exclaimed when he saw me, breaking our spell once again. I glared at him, and if looks could kill, he would be slaughtered. He was holding a measly bouquet of white flowers, smiling like an absolute moron. I chanced another look at Vegeta: he was staring at my date. He looked just as impassive as ever, but he was still staring at him. I allowed my optimism to conquer my logic, and I decided that his stare meant he was jealous.

"Goodbye, Vegeta." I brazenly slid my hand along his thigh before getting up to meet Yamcha. I felt his eyes boring into my back as I waltzed over to my bed, our sexual tension permeating the air. As I looked into Yamcha's eyes, I knew one thing for certain: he would never be enough.

* * *

><p>AN: Wow, thank you guys so much for all the reviews! Honestly, I am so touched. So here's your chapter 3. Please tell me what you think! If you review as much as you did last chapter, I'll update as quickly as possible. I love writing this story.

So, what do you think about Bulma and Vegeta? Do you think Bulma is just crazy and he has no feelings for her? Do you think things are moving too fast? What about Yamcha—should something happen between them?

Let me know! Love you all.

Aisha xx


	4. Lascivious Clouds

Our date wasn't exactly whimsical or enchanting. I dropped a few spaghetti strands on Yamcha's new pants, and he smacked me in the face accidentally when hailing a cab. Maybe it was payback for damaging his pants, who knows. He walked me to my front door and told me he had a lovely time, which was a blatant lie. We were forcing the conversation the entire evening. I had learned that he was quite boring, not at all someone I could envision a relationship with.

So, when I came home, I lay on my bed and tended to myself, much like I had all week, with thoughts of Vegeta brimming on my conscious. And then, I considered my life for a while, until the sun was peeking through the darkness, and I knew for certain it was time to lose myself to sleep. Why did I need a boyfriend, especially a boyfriend I didn't even _like_? I didn't need a male to occupy my time, distracting me from what I really wanted to do: suck on Vegeta's lower lip.

My life was more exciting than that, I hoped. I intended on doing what I was most captivated by, and with time, Vegeta would no longer cling to and perpetuate my desire. Sure, seeing him last night was blissfully exhilarating and brushing his thigh was probably the _best_ decision I had made in quite some time, but I had a whole life ahead of me, a summer to plan, and millions of interests that I should be indulging in, as opposed to dating my troubles away.

There was a conference today at the University of South City pertaining to technology that would advance space travel, possibly allowing mankind to reach the brinks of our solar system in one year's time. It had to do with a new style of spaceship and fuel, as well as survival necessities that were more durable than what currently existed: that putrid, pasty food they forced down astronaut's throats. I knew it was repulsive, for daddy and I had taken a trip down to the local space center and had sampled a roast chicken flavor. I would never forget it and not for the right reasons.

I decided the conference would make for a worthy Saturday afternoon. I was certain I'd be captivated by the presentation and return home later that evening only to lock myself in my laboratory for the rest of the weekend, working on a similar project (which would probably succeed the USC project). I slipped downstairs to alert my father of my plans, asking him if he wished to accompany me. "Daddy, I'm going to that conference today at the South City uni. Do you want to come? Should be fun, right? We could go to Blake's after…"

He shook his head whilst twisting a bolt with his wrench. "I'm sorry, love. I'm much too focused on this new hoverbike to abandon it. You go, and tell me what happens, okay? Shall I call Oliver for you?"

"No, that's alright, daddy," I said, rubbing a bit of grease off his slightly wrinkled cheek. "I'd like to drive myself; it's such a wonderful day. Maybe I'll ask Leezy to join me…" I pondered as I left his laboratory.

I dialed her number. "Leez, do you want to attend a space-related conference at the University today?"

"Bulma, as exciting as that sounds, you and I both know I'll be completely lost," she reasoned, and I chuckled.

"Leez, please! I'll buy you a delicious lunch at Blake's after…" I argued, hoisting my phone up with my right shoulder as I undressed.

"Let's hang out after; how's that sound?" She asked.

I grumbled, examining the small tattoo on my left hipbone. It was a flower, which might sound cliché—in fact, it totally was cliché. But it meant something to me. The flower was a Crown Imperial; it was dusty orange with flecks of deep purple. The flower meant power and pride, two concepts that were very integral to my being. I had spent a massive part of my life in my father's shadow. He was the King of Capsule Corporation. And because I was the freaky-genius kid at school, people were threatened by my intelligence, and they shunned me. I was still proud of my intellectual capacity. It gave me a surge of authority in the way I lived my life. Yet very few saw me as a powerful, commanding person. It really hurt me at times. I was competent, I was wildly smart, I saw a great deal of astounding success in my future, but the people around me still deemed me either a freak or "little Bulma," who surprised everyone each time her brain produced an idea. The Crown Imperial reminded me that I was powerful, and that was something to be proud of.

"Okay, Leez," I mumbled back. "I love you very much."

"I love you so much, Bulma," she whispered back and then hung up.

I stared at the pile of my clothes beneath me, as well as my pale, thin legs. They were so dry; I rubbed them with lotion until they looked somewhat acceptable. I grabbed a loose pair of ripped, boyfriend jeans and stepped into them and then yanked a plain, white t-shirt over my head. I wasn't trying to impress anyone after all. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and endeavored tackling the dark circles under my eyes, finally completing my ritual by painting my lips with a touch of cherry-stained balm. I snatched my black purse and headed out the door and into my BMW.

* * *

><p>I took a seat towards the back of the lecture hall and placed my notebook on the desk before me. I surveyed the people around me. They seemed like they were either in their late 40s or their early 20s, which left me as the clear youngest member of the room. I was used to this, though; my interests had always expanded beyond my age group. I enjoyed astrophysics just as much as I adored Taylor Swift, shamelessly.<p>

I wrote the date on the first line of the fresh, notebook page before a rough voice interrupted me. "It's the seventeenth, not the sixteenth, Bulma."

I turned to my left to see Vegeta sitting there, looking devilishly handsome in dark gray v-neck and black jeans. I responded breathlessly, "Oh, right. Hi. What are you doing here?"

"What are _you _doing here? Should you be off doing 'high school' things?" He quipped, resting his elbow on the back of my chair. I sucked in some air, gathering my confidence before I embarrassed myself in front of him.

"I was a bit more interested in this than Starbucks at the mall," I explained, smiling at him, earning a classic smirk in response.

He nodded his head. "I had a feeling you were that kind of girl."

"What kind of girl?"

"The kind that would prefer to attend this lecture than have coffee at the mall. Don't worry; it's not a bad things. It's just...interesting," he told me, leaning a bit more into me, but that could have just been my imagination playing tricks on me.

"'Interesting.' Hm. Interesting usually means weird," I countered, twiddling with a loose thread on my knee.

"What's wrong with that?"

I grinned up at him. "You're right about that." I paused, searching for something to say, the blush on my cheeks burning brighter with every second that passed in silence. "You didn't answer me. Why are you here?"

He rubbed his jaw. "I'm thinking about investing in this project."

"Vegeta!" We both turned around when we heard someone call his name. A tall man dressed in a navy blue, business suit was waving over at us, and out of the corner my eye, I saw Vegeta roll his eyes.

"Irritating guy I was forced to come here with," he explained and then brushed my thigh, and I swore to God, even though I didn't believe in him, that I saw the stars in that moment, and I understood the meaning of life: it was to be touched by this man in all the forbidden places.

"Bye, Bulma," he whispered, as though he was mimicking our farewell from the previous night. I nodded to him slowly and did something very daring because honestly, in that moment, my lust for him was the only thing keeping me conscious. I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his cheekbone, much like he had yesterday. When I pulled away, he held my gaze for a fleeting moment and then got up to join his colleague.

I was having difficulty concentrating during the conference. Vegeta was sitting a few rows in front of me, and I couldn't stop staring at him and his incredibly tall hair—which was somewhat obstructing my line of sight anyway. I forced myself to focus on what the speaker was saying because the whole point of this excursion was to get my mind off Vegeta. His showing up didn't exactly help my cause, but I persevered nonetheless.

The lecture was genuinely interesting. I wrote an immense amount of notes, which I hoped to delve more deeply into when I returned home. I detected a few flaws in the presentation, and I intended on correcting them in my own work. I loved observing others' ideas and then reforming them, making them better, which was the key to being a great innovator. At least in my mind, it was.

I packed up my bag once the conference ended and headed out the door, turning around when I heard my name being called in that very familiar, very thrilling, rough voice. He was smoking a cigarette and casually leaning against the outside of the lecture hall. "Bulma, hold on."

"Yeah?" I said, coating myself in a calm exterior. "I don't think you should be smoking in here; we're inside."

"Whatever. What are they going to do?"

"Kick you out?"

"So horrifying."

I chuckled at his laid back attitude. "Let me have a puff, then," I challenged, walking closer to him.

"I don't think your father would approve."

"My dad smokes about a pack a day...Plus, he's not here," I said, placing emphasis on the "he's not here," hoping he would discern my double meaning.

"No, you're right. He's not here," he agreed but still didn't offer me the cigarette. He was staring me down with his ominous eyes, and I felt naked, so vulnerable, beneath his gaze. "How was your date with that kid?"

"Does that make me a kid too, Vegeta?" I quipped, leaning against the wall next to him. He turned his head to stare at me once again, and my heart faltered.

"No, you're not. You're different, Bulma. You're...interesting," he said, a coy grin playing on his pink lips. I wanted to kiss them—_fuck_, I wanted to kiss them. I gripped the strap of my purse fiercely, trying to calm my hormones.

"The date was horrible. I dropped my pasta on his lap, and he hit me," I told him, laughing slightly at the memories.

Vegeta's eyes took on a new, more threatening shade of black. "_What_?" He asked in a quiet, deadly tone. "Does your father know?"

"It was an accident," I said quickly. "He was hailing a cab, so when he put his hand up, it hit my face—by _accident_," I elucidated, and his eyes returned to their normal, only slightly ominous color.

"Why this conference and not Starbucks?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Who am I going to go to Starbucks with? I don't exactly have many friends in high school," I told him, hanging my head slightly. "Sorry, that was probably too much detail."

"Advice from an older guy, Bulma: friends are highly overrated. You should have a few and fuck everyone else."

I sputtered, "_Fuck _them?" I winked at him, and he scowled.

"_Forget _about them," he corrected himself and finally offered me the cigarette. I took a long draw of it, feeling more relaxed as the smoke entered my lungs. I knew it was bad for me, I obviously did, but I was young and didn't really understand why I did most things anyway.

"You're so interesting," he said again, and I rolled my eyes.

"You've got to stop saying that. It makes me feel like a freak, and I get enough of that at school."

"What's wrong with being a freak?"

"There's nothing wrong with it; I just hate feeling like an outcast."

"I'm an outcast. I'm fine," he argued.

"You're not an outcast. How could you be an outcast looking like—" I stopped myself before I said something very mortifying.

"Looking like…?" He murmured with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Nevermind."

He took the cigarette back from me and exhaled a large cloud of smoke, closing his eyes in content. "We should stop this, you know," he said quietly.

"Stop what?" I asked innocently, but my heart was beating so loudly, we might have gone deaf.

"Nevermind."

"Wanna go for a drive?" I asked brazenly, leaning a bit closer to him.

He stared at me for a few moments before nodding slowly, as though he was very unsure. I took his hand and led him to my car. I sat in the driver's seat, he in the passenger's, and I put on "The Dark Side of the Moon" as we drove away, trapped in a cloud of danger and lasciviousness that neither of us knew how to defeat.

* * *

><p>AN: Hey, guys! Happy Thanksgiving, woo! Thanks so much for the reviews on last chapter; once again, I am so touched by your support for this story. If you review the same amount, I'll post another chapter of HSHS before my Thanksgiving break is over—promise.

Also, please let me know what you think/what should happen. Are you glad the date with Yamcha didn't go well? Do you think Bulma is too young for Vegeta? Do you think he likes her at all?

Let me know! Enjoy the holiday if you celebrate!

xx Aisha


	5. Blank Haze

I'd returned late that evening, walking into the kitchen sleepily around 1:00 A.M. My mother was sitting in there, gazing patiently out the window, stirring her tea absentmindedly. Her eyes looked hollow and solemn, and she nearly burst into tears at the sight of me. Throwing her arms around me, she held me like that for a few silent moments.

I had been gone quite a while, and with no word from me all day, it was logical that she'd be worried. I had been so distracted. I usually called or texted. I was responsible; I knew that my parents only worried about me because they loved me. But they had been the furthest thing from my mind all day, all day spent driving aimlessly with a certain someone with whom I definitely should have been spending time.

It was wonderful, though. Almost perfectly innocent—we never touched, never so much as kissed each other's cheeks. We just had a long conversation about life and the future and the stars and everything in between. I was expecting he wouldn't want to talk. I was expecting him to bail on me around twenty minutes into our drive, but he persisted, questioning me about my hopes and dreams, smirking at my well thought out responses.

He seemed slightly out of character. After all, I never pegged him for a talkative person, and I still didn't think he was. Yet he had a lot to say when we were alone, many questions to ask me, and he answered almost all those I shot at him. He avoided a few concerning a lost love or dream girl, rolling his eyes at my "immaturity."

My mother drew me back from my reminiscence, running her fingers through my tangled hair. "Bulma…" she whispered softly, and I wondered why she was so concerned. Yes, it was late, but I was unscathed—on the exterior, at least. I rubbed her back fiercely.

"Mom, what's wrong? I'm sorry, I know I'm late, but I think you're overreacting…" I tucked my face into her billowing, blonde hair as she grabbed at me more tightly, as though I might slip away.

"Oh, honey," she murmured, curling one of my blue lock's around her finger. "It's just...Emilia...Aunt Emilia...She's gotten into an acc-accident, and…"

I bit my lip to hold down the tears, hoping my mother's sentence could possibly end happily. I felt sick in the pit of my stomach; I felt like darkness had finally won, like a monster had just sucked the sunshine out of me. My eyes began to cloud with foggy disbelief, and I didn't feel as though I was standing in my mother's loving arms.

"...she didn't m-make it," my mother finished, hesitating mid-sentence.

I released myself from her arms and sat down on a kitchen stool, staring blankly at the clock as time ticked by, as we continued forth to a world where Aunt Emilia did not exist. The fogginess dissipated all of a sudden, and everything lost its meaning. There was nothing onto which I could grasp, no significance or inner meaning to the tragedy that was plaguing my heart. I didn't reflect on the time I spent with her or how I would miss her peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies. I simply stared at that clock until my mother left me there, after placing a light kiss on my forehead. I stayed there until the blood-orange sun drew me from oblivion, and the heavy weights on my eyelids forced me into bed.

* * *

><p>I woke up a few hours later when the deep blue of twilight roused me from my sleep. I rolled over in bed and stared blankly at my wall for a while, not thinking of anything, thinking of nothing. And somewhere in that abyss of nothing, I realized I was being selfish. Aunt Emilia hadn't only touched me; she'd touched my mother, father, even Leezy. She was my father's sister after all, and while I loved her dearly, so did others, and I had completely ignored them.<p>

The mere thought of my father losing someone so important to him, so important as a _sister_ made me tremble with anguish. It made me nearly crumble on the spot; how could life be so unfair? Aunt Emilia was barely 50, and her entire future had been ripped away from her because of an accident of which I knew none of the details. Hot tears began sliding down my cheeks, and I finally succumbed to the fact of the matter, the reality I had been avoiding for quite some time.

I began taking long, shaky breaths, endeavoring to calm my racing heart. I brushed away my tears and attempted to mimic someone as strong as Vegeta who would never allow his emotions to conquer him. I wished I could embody his fortitude and be that unwavering foundation for my family, but I was hiding away in my room. I was pathetic, something Aunt Emilia never taught me to be.

I trudged out of my room in pursuit of my parents, hoping to console them, wanting to make everything right. But the compound was empty; an eerie silence had settled in the house, leaving me to wallow in loneliness. I raced back to my room to check my phone and found two new voicemails.

"Bulma," came my mother's voice, "I've gone to the hospital to be with your father and his family." She sounded void on the phone, as though she was trying to keep her emotions at bay. "They'll be moving...Emilia's body shortly. I'll be home as soon as I can. Please don't come here, honey; this isn't something I'd like you to see."

I pressed the next pending message. "Bulma, sweetie, is your father at home? Your grandmother said he left the hospital after throwing a tantrum, and no one's seen him since. Oh god, I'm worried...This is so unlike him…"

My heart rate began to accelerate once again. Where could my father have gone? It was so unlike him to be overtly angry or sad or tormented. He usually kept it all bottled up, dealt with it privately. I raced around the compound for a second time, checking even the estranged laboratories for him, calling his name desperately. When I came back to the main area of the compound, and there was still no sign of him, I decided it was time to call the police. I took a gulp of air, hastening to calm myself when I heard the front door open.

I froze and prayed that it was my daddy coming home to tell me everything was alright, that I'd only had a nightmare. And then, Vegeta, holding my father by the torso, entered. Vegeta looked darker than normal, slightly tired, very disheveled in comparison to a few hours ago.

"What happened?" I hissed, racing forward to grab my father's other side. He was barely conscious, and he smelled equally of vomit and whiskey. I scrunched my face in an effort to evade the smell and helped Vegeta carry him up to his bedroom. Once we reached the master, Vegeta waited at the threshold as I pulled my daddy's jacket off and used a damp towel to freshen his aging face. I leaned down and pressed my lips to his cheek and then wept silently as I walked away from him. As we exited the room, I shut the lights and sent a text to my mother to alert her of his safety.

"What happened?" I asked again, slightly louder than before. Vegeta and I walked down the stairs.

"He called me about an hour ago—I guess I was the last person he'd called," he explained. "I could tell he was in bad shape, so I got him to tell me where he was and went to pick him up."

I nodded along as he spoke and then, my body seemingly acting of its own accord, jumped into his arms and held him with all my might. He stiffened at first; it was clear I was making him uncomfortable, so I pulled away. He gave me a look once we were separated; it was almost warning.

"Why was he getting wasted at a random bar, Bulma? Did something happen?" He asked, walking towards the door. Was he really going to leave me in this state?

"You don't know?" I asked. "I don't know, I assumed you knew if you went to pick him up."

"He's my friend; of course I picked him up," Vegeta reasoned, slipping into a pair of dark, motorcycle boots.

I glanced at him and paused a moment to gather myself—I didn't want to look desperate. "Do you think you could stay for a bit?" I tried to sound casual, glaring at the floor as I asked him for something that meant much more to me than simply his company.

Vegeta didn't take off his shoes, but he also didn't walk out the door, so I considered that a win. "Bulma…" He whispered in a low tone. "I…" He trailed off, looking up at the ceiling in desperation, contemplating his next move. "I don't want to leave, but you and I both know I should."

"He was wasted because he lost his sister," I said bluntly, needing Vegeta to know why I needed him. "My aunt. My Aunt Emilia." I trembled slightly and took a deep breath, calming myself momentarily. Everything was so shaky, so precarious. I needed him to stay here with me; we needn't do anything, just sit together, sit in silence, waiting for a better day. But I wanted to sit with him. With Vegeta, because he had somehow wound his way into my heart in a much stronger way than I had initially anticipated. After spending the day with him, after talking to him endlessly, getting underneath his skin, seeing him laugh, seeing the skin beside his eyes crinkle with joy, I looked at him differently. I saw his beauty for who he was internally, within his shielded heart, as opposed to on the surface.

He didn't say anything in response to my confession. No "I'm sorry" or "That's horrible!" or "Let me stay here, and keep you company," but rather, he slipped out of his shoes and walked toward me until our noses were barely touching, and I could feel his presence coating me in a protective embrace. He tilted forward and pressed his lips to my forehead in the gentlest way possible, with more grace and control that I could have ever foreseen him practicing.

We sat on the couch together, a comfortable silence settling between us. I glanced at him every now and then; he was staring out the window intently despite how dark it was. "Were you close to her?" He asked me after a while.

I nodded. "Yes. She taught me many things that I'll never forget."

"Like?"

"Like how to be a powerful women and how to be a graceful but commanding leader. I want to take over Capsule Corp. one day, you know. I'm _going _to."

He smirked at my confidence, most likely. "Well, with that attitude, I'd be surprised if it were anyone else."

"I'm glad," I laughed, easing into our conversation. "I want to make her and my father proud. They've both done so much for me, privately tutored me in engineering, physics, thermodynamics, et cetera."

"So, you're pretty much a nerd, huh?"

"And proud. But so are you, I presume. Why else did I run into you into you at the conference?"

"I told you that I was investing in the project."

"Sure, that's the only reason you came. They wouldn't have sent you to invest in the project unless they knew you'd understand it. I was there, buddy. It wasn't fifth grade stuff."

"I didn't know we were buddies; that's no way to talk to your elder," he sarcastically scolded, sneering at me with delight.

"Then, what are we?" I asked cheekily, fully aware of how my flirting was blatantly obvious, choosing to fly on this high instead of delve into any despair.

"We are...You're my friend's daughter," he responded evenly. I discerned a shift in his mood and that discomfort returning.

"Okay," I said and began twiddling with my thumbs, which only reminded me of playing Cat's Cradle with Aunt Emilia. "_Fuck_…" I murmured quietly, feeling her loss sinking into me. Vegeta looked up at me but said nothing, knowing he wasn't meant to hear my vulnerabilities.

"Bulma, it's just—"

"No, I get it, Vegeta. I'm your friend's daughter; I really get it. But I'd rather if we were just quiet, you know? I've had a really shitty day, and it's not exactly getting better," I said smoothly, no malicious contour to my tone because I didn't mean it to be there. I really got it. I _was _his friend's daughter, and maybe I _was _just kidding myself. Either way, there were far more important things on which to dwell.

"No, if we're quiet, it'll just hurt more. Talk to me, tell me more about her," he suggested.

"She taught me how to drive, gave me advice on my first boyfriend—"

"Oh?"

"I'm your friend's daughter, remember?" I quipped, and he rolled his eyes. "But yeah, she told me how to ditch his ass when he cheated on me with this girl Dolores. She helped me a _lot _with that break up, but god, it hurt a shitload. And yes, I know I sound like a little baby when I complain about it."

"You do," he agreed, actually smiling at me for once. "But at least you learned from it; you're not going to let it get you down again, right?"

"No, certainly not. Aunt Emilia told me the best revenge was showing him that his stupid mistake didn't affect me."

"I agree. Don't show the enemy your weaknesses," he recited as though that was the mantra by which he lived his life.

I squeezed his thigh gently and locked my cerulean eyes with his onyx voids. I leaned into him, and he began to pull away, but I held him there, and he finally gave into me. I placed a soft kiss on his jawline and then his cheek and then his earlobe, moving on to his chin, followed by his other cheek. I created some distance between us and focused on his lips, staring at them, so vulnerable in their pale, pink shade. A fiery pull yanked me towards them, but he shook his head, removing himself from our close proximity. "It's not...a good idea."

I smiled at him sadly and silently agreed with him. "I know, Vegeta," I whispered. "I just...Thank you. Thank you for staying with me, and thank you for asking me about her. I know it may not be reciprocated, but you're more to me than my father's friend."

* * *

><p>AN: A more solemn chapter for you, hope you don't mind. Thank you all _so much _for the reviews. Again, I am so touched. Please do that again! Means so much to me, and definitely inspires me to write more—if you know what I mean.

Tell me what you think. How do you think this loss is going to affect Bulma? Do you think she'll leave Vegeta alone? Do you think her parents are going to find out anything, anytime soon?

Love you all. xx Aisha


	6. Tears and Vintage Reds

She was so effervescent, so carefree. Her smile made me feel whole, like there was no tomorrow or ten years from now that I had to worry about. She gripped me and held me closely to her heart. She made me feel like a warrior, like a fire that could not be extinguished. She was so Leezy. So _my _Leezy—my beautiful, baby Leezy.

"Bulma," she whispered, taking my hand in hers, pressing a delicate kiss on my wrist. "How are you doing?"

The sun was shining all around her; it was hard to believe really, her beauty. She was so _beautiful_. She was the opposite of all the darkness in my life, of all the uncertainty with Vegeta, of all the anguish I felt towards Aunt Emilia's death.

"Leez, it's all fine, babe," I told her, leaning my head against the seat belt.

"Bulma…" She murmured. I knew what was awaiting me at our destination. Leezy was driving me to the funeral in her quaint, fiery red convertible. We were adorned in loose, white dresses. I know that you are supposed to wear black to mourn the dead, but I didn't want to do that. Aunt Emilia was life in a person, and I wanted to celebrate her _life_, celebrate what she did for me, celebrate the love we shared, not cry over what I had lost.

"Eileen," I said sternly. "Focus on the road. I'm _okay_." And there was something in the certainty of my tone that said I was going to be fine. Maybe I wasn't right now, maybe I wouldn't be for a while, but I would be, someday. I was Bulma, strong, competent, and fierce; Aunt Emilia would want me to be strong, to fight, to live my life with grace.

"Okay," she replied lamely and turned to the rolling hills before us. We were headed to my family's country house, where the funeral would be held. The air was warm, and I felt meekly happy. There was something stuck in my throat, making it harder to speak, but I was safe, and today was going to be okay. I had my Leezy, and my family was waiting for me, in the zen that was just beyond the next town.

I supposed Vegeta would be there, and for that, I was grateful. It was wrong; the desire I felt for him was wrong in the purest sense of the word. He was far my senior, a truth I knew only too well. But he was good; I had quite a bit of faith in that fact. It was probably hard for him to feel his goodness, but I saw it in the way he cared for my father, in the way he was present and attentive and cautious.

We turned a corner, and then, we were there. People were lining up to pay respect to my father and grandparents. Leezy parked, and we exited the car. She wandered off after a bit, telling me she had to greet my parents. I couldn't. I hadn't been able to face my dad in a while, really. Ever since he had returned wildly drunk, I had felt awkwardness cause a shift between us. There was something in the sadness in his pupils that frightened me; he was supposed to be _happy_, consistently happy. I didn't know what to do about the tragic winds that blew around him; I didn't know how to fix him, how to fix any of us.

"How are you?" The voice that made me shudder with delight spoke in my ear. His arm encircled around my waist, and to anyone else, it was purely innocent. To him, it was casual, a sign of respect and appreciation. To me, it made me shake, made me want to turn around and place my lips on his neck—to hell with everyone else.

"There have been better days," I said, smiling up at him, hiding my need for him seemingly well. He looked devilishly handsome, his dark suit bringing out the smoldering bits of his eyes. He smiled at me with genuine sadness playing at the corners of his lips. He wasn't smirking or sneering or teasing, but rather, he looked desolate. "How are you?" I asked.

"If you need to get out of here, just say so," he told me, and my heart fluttered. He was being very forward, completely in contrast to the way he'd been acting before.

"I thought—"

"Bulma, all I mean is that I can get you out of here if it's too overwhelming for you," he told me sternly, and that cloud-nine rush of happiness immediately dissipated.

"I see," I replied. "Well, that won't be necessary; my friend Eileen is here. She can take me home if need be," I paused. "Oh, here she is."

Leezy walked up to us, a glass of red wine in her hand. "Here, Bulma," she said softly, passing me the glass. I took a hearty sip. It was early in the afternoon, perhaps too early for wine, but at this point, a little lightheadedness wasn't going to hurt me.

"I didn't know the drinking age was 17," Vegeta taunted, his trademark smirk returning to its rightful place.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be _that _person," I quipped and then realized I hadn't yet introduced Vegeta to Leezy. "Um, Vegeta, this is my lovely friend Eileen—well, just call her Leezy, that's what I do. And Leez, this is my...This is my dad's friend Vegeta."

"Nice to meet you, Leezy," Vegeta said kindly, shaking her hand.

"You too," she replied before giving me a suggestive look out of the corner of her eye. "Well, I better go say 'hi' to the rest of the Brief family. Excuse me," she said and skipped off before I could catch her.

"That was very smooth," he joked.

"She's just teasing me. I didn't say anything to her, don't worry. I mean, not that there's anything to have said, but—"

"Bulma!" I heard Krillin's cheery tone behind me, and really, I lit up. I rushed over and threw myself into his arms and felt a bit of my tension release.

"Krillin, oh god, you don't know how much I missed you. Where have you been? How was New York?" I asked all at once, still squeezing him, laughing silently at how much taller I was.

"How are you doing, Bulma?" He asked me, flatly ignoring my fluid wave of interrogation. "I know how much Emilia meant to you, of course. Obviously you're not okay; why am I even asking? Well, what I'm meaning to say is: are you _going _to be okay?"

I smiled at him. "Not right now, no, but yes, I am _going _to be okay...Once I have a few more of these," I laughed, gesturing to my near empty wine glass.

Krillin chuckled at my antics. "Hey, wait, is that Vegeta?" He peered around me.

"Yeah. Dad's been getting along well with him recently," _and so have I_, I thought to myself.

"Cool! Let's go say hi," Krillin said, marching over to where Vegeta was nursing a cappuccino by himself.

"Hi, I'm Krillin," Krillin said, reaching out to shake Vegeta's hand. "I don't know if you remember me, but we all used to hang out together when we were much younger."

"Don't worry; I remember you," Vegeta said evenly. "It's nice to see you again, despite the circumstances."

"Well, our little Bulma here was just telling me you've been hanging out with Trunks lately. I'm glad you've been here for him. Really thanks, man. I've been away in New York on business but cut the trip short…"

Krillin kept talking. Yeah, he didn't stop for a really long time. But Vegeta and I were standing there and just staring at each other, and I felt dazed because of the warm sun, and he just looked so _delicious _in that suit, and really, there was a torrential war of feelings pulverizing around in my heart. I just wanted to stand there and look at him, so that's what I was going to do; for now, for a while, hopefully for longer than that. When Krillin finally shut up, all Vegeta had to say was, "I wouldn't say she's little. She's grown up, a woman now."

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and if I didn't know better, I'd think Vegeta said that completely on reflex, for he looked equally as embarrassed. Thankfully Krillin wasn't one to dwell on anything, and he just laughed, innocence sparkling in his somewhat elderly eyes. "That's because you haven't known her as long as we have." He stepped back as if to admire me. "But I suppose you're right; you have grown up, Bulm."

"Thanks for finally noticing, Krill," I said softly.

"Hey, I've gotta talk to Goku about something. You're okay, right?" Krillin asked me. I wasn't sure what he meant. Was I okay, in general? Definitely not. I probably wouldn't be for a while. Was I okay standing here, with Vegeta, sipping a vintage Cabernet, and the sunshine contently tickling my back? I think so. So, I nodded at him, and he was on his merry way, and yes, it definitely might have looked strange: I had yet to speak to anyone at the funeral besides Vegeta or without Vegeta at least standing there. But his presence was soothing, so I stayed.

There was something about our dangerous banter that drew me away from how I was hurting. It wasn't right of me to crave the distraction, but I never claimed to be a perfect, morale person. Maybe I longed for _Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt_. Maybe I needed to lose myself in Vonnegut's words and just stay with him, Vegeta, feeding off of our vibrantly muted sexual tension, until everything _was _beautiful, and _nothing _hurt anymore.

"You look anxious," Vegeta said to me after a few silent moments.

"Do I?" I replied. "I'm performing a song in a bit, you know, after my dad says a bit on Aunt Emilia."

"What are you performing?"

"Uh, you know Jeff Buckley?" Vegeta shook his head, though I was unsure whether he meant it positively or negatively. "I'm singing his rendition of 'Satisfied Mind.'"

"Are you trying to break everyone's heart?"

"What do you mean?"

"That song is so sad. And I mean _sad_, like it's downright depressing."

"I wouldn't say so. He's just saying that the best thing to do is to leave the earth with a satisfied mind, having lived a good life, you know."

"You are far beyond your years, Bulma Brief," he told me, snickering at me, almost in awe.

I took a sip of my drink. "I think I've just always been surrounded by great people who've taught me about the important things."

"Have I taught you anything?"

I laughed, shifting closer to him subconsciously. "I've known you for barely a few months."

"Still...Have I? You've taught me a few things, if I'm being honest."

"Enlighten me."

"Well," he began, taking a gulp of his coffee, "you taught me that I really don't understand teenagers at all—people in general, even. I completely misjudged you, Bulma, when I first met you. I mean, you fucking go to lectures at the University for no reason other than you find them interesting. You're performing a Jeff Buckley song, and you listen to _The Dark Side of the Moon _in your car. I actually love talking to you, and I never like talking to people, especially those who are younger."

I had a stupid smile on my face, and there were probably a few tears lurking on my waterline. "Thanks," I whispered. "You're just not who you seem to be. You wear those damn jackets, and you sneer at everything _anyone _says. But you're not that guy, are you?"

"What guy?"

"Just the guy who doesn't really give a shit. You do, though. I can tell. You wouldn't have stayed with me that night if you didn't, you wouldn't have taken care of my dad…"

"Fuck, am I that obvious?" He said, laughing. Really laughing, though, and he just seemed so free, so "infinite" in that moment, with _me_.

"...And now my daughter, Bulma, has something lovely to say," we heard from the opposing side of the venue, and I realized belatedly that it was time for me to perform. Vegeta mouthed "good luck" to me as I ventured over to the origin of my father's voice.

I precariously made my way up to the makeshift stage and took the microphone from my dad as he placed a kiss on me cheek. I surveyed my onlookers and felt myself calm. Leezy was smiling up at me, and Goku was staring at me like a proud father, and my mother was already crying, and I was just surrounded by love, in every essence of the word. Though I didn't believe in god or heaven or angels, Aunt Emilia would reside in my heart, guiding me through this dark time, and everything would be _fine_.

"Hello, as many people of you know, I'm Bulma," I said into the microphone. "My aunt looked at the world with wonder." I took a shaky breath. "She loved trying new things, saw strangers as friends she hadn't yet met...I haven't met a lot of people like that in my life. She really was the only one. When I spent time with her, we would just _laugh_, like for hours and hours until we had that stinging pain in our sides, our vision blurred from the tears." I looked away from the crowd, finding those tears coming to my eyes again, though they weren't for the same reason.

"It's so hard to capture her in words. And really, we just didn't have enough time together. It's just so unfair. Life has to rip you away before you've gotten a chance to say what you really wanted to say. But I'd like to think Aunt Emilia was satisfied with what she'd said. My aunt was beautiful; she still is, and what she taught me, what she taught all the people she touched, that's going to stay with us. So she's gotta be happy, wherever she is."

"So I'm going to sing a song to commemorate her wonderful life because, frankly, it's really hard to talk about this. Here we go…" I said before delving into the song and closing my eyes. It was just easier that way, when I didn't have to look into everyone's pitying eyes. Because when you're neither here nor there, you're just lost. And sometimes _lost _is a sublime place to be.

I sang quietly and a cappella, "But one thing's for certain, when it comes my time, I'll leave this old world with a satisfied mind…"

Then, the song ended, and I managed to leave the stage and make my way to the house, the applause lingering behind me, but I paid it no mind. Because Aunt Emilia was gone, and for some reason, I was just now realizing how final death was. I couldn't even remember what the last conversation we had was; when was the last time we shared a meal together? I wouldn't hear her annoying laugh again, or the way she scolded me for preferring psychophysics over English Literature.

I barely made it into the house before my mother's arms were around me, and Leezy was cooing in my ear about how it was going to be okay. I didn't believe them even though I knew they were right. Aunt Emilia would tell me the same thing, wouldn't she? But why couldn't she be here to tell me that? I felt such rage coursing through my veins all of a sudden. Why was she just _gone_? Why was there such a finality to her life; why couldn't she still be here, holding my hand, whispering away my troubles? Because I was 17, far too young to lose someone that important. Far too young to face any of this without her.

I heard a rough voice, and it drew me slightly out of my hysteric trance. "Would you like me to take her home?"

My mother paused for a moment; I could feel her hesitance by my side. Perhaps Leezy should drive me home, that would be the safest option, but she was meant to take her family home. "Are you sure, Vegeta? It's just, please don't take this offensively, but I barely know you—even though Trunks adores you. Eileen, would you?"

And then, Leezy did something completely unexpected, which was probably why she was my best friend. She simply figured it all out without my having say anything. She knew that I felt something for him, that spending alone time with him would distract me from the pain more than she could at that moment. "Bunny, I've got to take my family home and look after you and Trunks and everyone else. I'm sure Vegeta can handle it."

My mother nodded quickly as though it had made sense to her all along. "Of course, you're right. Vegeta, if you wouldn't mind, that would be very helpful." My mother wiped my face quickly and placed a kiss on my forehead. "It'll all be fine, my love."

Leezy pulled me into her arms and held me with all her might. "I hope this'll help," she whispered into my ear before pressing her lips gently against my jawline.

"I love you," I told her honestly, and she nodded at me, and Leezy was just perfect. I didn't care that I didn't have many friends; I had Leezy.

Vegeta and I made our way to his car in silence, and I leaned against him, not even caring about the consequences. "Thank you," I said quietly.

He didn't say anything, just opened the door for me, and put on _The Dark Side of the Moon _as we pulled out of the driveway. And as we drove off, I wondered if I were falling for him in a way that I couldn't stop.

* * *

><p>AN: Ahhh, a new chapter for ya! Hope you love it; hope I did justice by Aunt Emilia.

Some questions: how are you liking Bulma and Vegeta's relationship dynamic? What would you like to see more of (i.e. more Bulma and Leezy hanging out, etc.)

Guys, last chapter I didn't get many reviews, and I don't want sound like a bitch, but I also don't want to post the story if no one is reading it, you know? So if you like this story and want me to continue, _please _let me know in a review! You don't know how much I appreciate it.

But to all those who never fail to review, thank you so much, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

Anyway, hope you like it. Please let me know what you think, even if you hated it.

xx Aisha


	7. Let It Loose, Little Girl

Calculus was so dull. Why did I have to do it without a calculator when the class was called _calc_ulus? Granted I didn't need the extra help, but I had a knack for making ridiculous, arithmetical mistakes like _6 divided by 3 equals 2 _and such. Give me a crazy limit to solve—I could do it. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for simple, third grade level mathematics.

Leezy and I were lounging around her house on a dreary Sunday afternoon, prepping for our upcoming test. I was tutoring her as her strengths mingled with the humanities. I paused mid-derivative when my phone vibrated.

_SMS Text Message from: Vegeta_

**Are you busy?**

I glanced to my right at Leezy who was consumed by an enormous pile of practice-problem sheets and wondered if she would kill me if I left, should Vegeta ask me to spend time with him. We had grown fairly close since he had driven me home from Aunt Emilia's funeral. It was a tad less weird. We never spoke of the lingering tension between us, only focusing on how seamlessly we got along.

_SMS Reply to Vegeta from: You_

**No, just studying for Calc test that I will most likely ace.**

_SMS Text Message from: Vegeta_

**Always the modest one. I'm being forced to network tonight with these fucking clients. **

_SMS Reply to Vegeta from: You_

**On a Sunday? Networking is awful.**

_SMS Text Message from: Vegeta _

**Says the 17 year old still in high school. It's at a concert, and I was told I could bring someone…**

_SMS Reply to Vegeta from: You_

**So you're asking me out?**

_SMS Text Message from: Vegeta_

**I'm not even replying to that. But can you come?**

_SMS Reply to Vegeta from: You_

**Don't you think it'd be a bit weird if you just showed up with a random 17 year old who has no relation to you?**

_SMS Text Message from: Vegeta_

**It's a Stones concert. I'll just say you're my good friend's daughter who's a huge fan, and your birthday's coming up.**

_SMS Reply to Vegeta from: You_

**Fine. Text me what time, and pick me up by Starbucks off of South Square cause I'm at Leezy's.**

"Finally you're finished. Who were you texting with the goo-goo eyes? Oh, let me guess, that total babe...What was his name? Veg—"

"Vegeta."

"Right. Is this actually becoming a thing, Bulm? Are you _sure_? I mean, isn't he like forty years old?" Leezy asked me, settling her notebook down on the carpeted floor before her. "No judging, though." She insisted earnestly, and I smiled in return.

"I don't know. But you can't tell anyone, alright?" I said seriously, and she nodded. "We haven't done anything...haven't even _said _anything to each other about the possibility of there being something between us, you know? It just feels weird. There's a vibe, and I don't think I'm just being crazy now. He just invited me to a Stones concert, so..."

"And what'd you say?"

"Yes. I mean, it's the Rolling Stones. How often do you get to see them perform?"

Leezy sighed softly, and I instantly anticipated the dose of motherly worrying with which she was about to shower me. I knew it was in all good intentions. I knew this...whatever "this" was with Vegeta was wrong. I should be running in the other direction, but I was doing everything in my power to stay close to him.

"I just don't want to see this blow up in your face, Bulma," she said simply, twiddling her thumbs anxiously. She didn't enjoy scolding me; she rarely did, anyway. But certain things demanded to be said, and this was one of those things. "You sure he isn't playing you?"

That I was confident of—Vegeta had denied me too many times to be toying with me. "He's definitely not. I think he's got too much respect for my dad to really do anything with me. It's just like...a sexual air between us, you feel?"

Leezy quieted at that point. She had faith in me, I believe. I was competent and freakishly smart, and sure, everyone was going to make a mistake, even the smartest like Stephen Hawking. In my experience, I've found that mistakes end up being the portal to happiness. You get it wrong so many times, and you learn every time how to do it better, and eventually, you're bound to get it right. And Vegeta just felt right. I didn't know why; I had really no basis for this feeling. He just did, so even if I were making a mistake, it was on the pathway to my happiness.

"So how do you do this?" Leezy asked me after a few moments of silence, pointing to a problem on a purple sheet. Our focus shifted, and soon, we were back to laughing and smiling and love each other unconditionally.

"Leezy babe," I said to her after a while. "Got anything I can wear?"

"Sure. Raid my closet; you know I don't care."

I stood and made my way over to her immense wardrobe. I was sometimes convinced that she had more clothes than I but knew that most likely impossible. I slid my hands over all the silken fabrics and felt my excitement pique. There was something about getting ready for an event that always exceeded the actual event. I yanked a black jumpsuit from Camilla and Marc off the hanger and admired it. I figured it was perfect—definitely classy as it covered all the good bits and more, but the cleavage was ample with the pseudo sweetheart neckline.

"Leez, with the C&M jumpsuit, what shoes are you feeling?" I shouted back into her room.

"You knew what would be cute? My pale pink Converse. They're in my closet somewhere…"

"Yes! You are so right, oh my god! I love you."

"I love you too, babe."

I slipped my feet into the Converse and stared at my reflection in the floor length mirror. Was I trying to catch Vegeta's attention? Oh, who was I kidding—of course I was. I doubted my crush on him would ever fade. Maybe I had some sort of strange complex. I had spent so much of my life basking in this condescending shadow, playing the part of "Little Bulma" that I was seeking an older, mature man—one who happened to be friends with my father—to sate my sense of inferiority.

Was that necessarily a bad thing? Yes. Yes, it most certainly was. And I loved my dad, so pursuing his good friend was absolutely a disrespectful move on my part. But was it just an act of rebellion? Was I in it with Vegeta for the thrill and the thrill alone? The simple answer was no. The longer answer was more complicated. We just...clicked, and it was inevitable, the way I was falling head over heels for him. I didn't love him, obviously. I wasn't a fool. I just _liked _him. I really, really did, and I liked how we bantered and how we agreed when it came to social issues and how he really cared about my family and how he was always grumbling and how he treated me as an equal. I wasn't an angel to him, I wasn't something to take care of, I was just a girl. I liked being _just a girl_, just Bulma.

My phone buzzled, and a text from Vegeta relayed that he was a few minutes away. I pressed my lips against Leezy's cheek as I bustled out the door, grabbing my purse on my way out. I immediately spotted his car, which he had taken me home in on the day of Aunt Emilia's funeral. I pushed all thoughts of her out of my mind the minute they came rushing in. Tonight was going to be fun. Tonight was not the time for mourning.

I scooted into the passenger seat and grinned at my companion, feeling my cheeks heat up as the momentary awkwardness settled. "Hey," I said, and my voice came out sounding a bit rough and hesitant. I coughed. "How are you?"

Vegeta just looked, almost glared, at me pointedly. "What?" I asked defensively.

"What are you wearing?" He said through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes.

"What—are you my dad or something?"

"You're not making this easier, you know…"

"So you're finally admitting it?" I shot back.

His response was to start up the car and head off to the arena where I assumed the concert was being held. "Are you a Rolling Stones fan, Vegeta?"

"Not particularly. Let me guess: you are."

"Uh," I began, laughing slightly. "Sort of. I like them, definitely. 'Let it Loose' is great...I don't know if you've heard it."

"No, I haven't, but put it on," he instructed me, gesturing to the outlet where I could plug in my phone. I did as he asked, and the first notes of the song began filling up the car. I hummed along with Mick Jagger, feeling the beat pulsate around me. I tapped my foot to the rhythm, and eventually, Vegeta followed along, thumbing the steering wheel at the same time as the downbeat.

"This is fucking good," he commented, offering me his trademark smirk.

"I'm glad it has your approval," I quipped. "You look handsome," I told him brazenly, my eyes raking over his slim form. He was dressed in a midnight blue suit, and his crisp, white dress shirt revealed a peek at his chest. A coy smile was playing at the corner of his lips, and I could tell he was pleased with himself. "Did you dress up for me?"

"Of course not," he snapped. "You're my friend's daughter."

He said it, and of course it was the truth, but it just seemed ridiculous at this point. So we both burst out laughing, as though it were some inside joke by now. Vegeta was really laughing—not snickering. I loved it when he completely _let it loose_, excuse my pun. Eventually, we pulled up at a large concert hall and began walking toward the entrance after he had parked.

"But really," he told me as we were walking, "you're my friend's daughter—"

"God, that just doesn't stop being funny!"

"Shut up. I'm being serious, Bulma," he said in a low, stern voice, and I felt heat begin to generate between my thighs. Something about the way he was punishing me...something about the way he put me in my place...just set me on fire. And I wanted to _burn _him. I shifted slightly closer to him, allowing our arms to brush as we made our way to the entrance. "You're my friend's daughter, and you like the Stones, and that's why I brought you. You're going to a be a good girl for me tonight, okay?"

_Fuck_...He had never spoken to me this way before. He seemed to be playing with me, perhaps joking (if Vegeta could possibly joke), but he had no idea how his "humor" affected me. _A good girl for him_—fuck yeah, I would be. I nodded my head like an obedient dog, and we marched on our merry little way, past the box office and up to our private suite. The clients had not yet arrived, so that left us alone in a private room where no one could find us.

"Can you call me 'little girl' again?" I asked him breathlessly before I even thought about it.

"What?" He said, his brows wrinkling in confusion. Just then, a knock on the door jolted me from my lustful haze.

As Vegeta opened it, his entire demeanor changed. He transformed from sulking and brooding to bright and charismatic; I couldn't help but snort.

"Max! Greg! How are you boys?" He asked them, clapping the two middle-aged business men on the back. "So glad you could make it."

He seemed so phony; it was really hard to refrain from laughing. When their eyes settled on me, I blushed. I really hated meeting strangers. But I was going to put on a good show for Vegeta. Perhaps, if he ended up pleased with me by the end of the evening, I'd get a treat—for being a _good _little girl.

"Hey! I'm Bulma! It's so wonderful to meet the two of you. Vegeta has been talking you up to me all evening." I stretched out my hand for each of them to shake, and they grinned warmly at me.

"Bulma, huh? Haven't heard of you! Vegeta's...niece, perhaps?" Max asked me, and I shook my head.

"No, sir," I replied, almost purring. "I'm the daughter of his friend, Trunks Brief. Surely you've heard of him?"

"My god…" Greg paused after a sip of a scotch. "You're _the_ Bulma Brief? Why, you're a genius!"

I blushed. "Not really! Just inherited some great genes. But please, come sit down! I think the show is about to start." I led them to their seats, which had a great view of the stage. My heart was pounding with excitement. Helping Vegeta gave me a thrill. Doing things to gain his approval, to be his good little girl, multiplied my good mood exponentially.

"What are you doing?" He hissed once they were out of earshot.

"What do you mean? I'm just trying to help you get these clients." I batted my lashes innocently in his face.

"You were _flirting_," he scolded, running his fingers up and down my left arm.

"No, I was not, Vegeta! That's disgusting. But even if I were, why does it matter to you?" I asked him, and he rolled his eyes only because he _knew _I was going to ask that.

He cleared his throat. "Because you're mine—my responsibility, I mean."

"I'm yours?"

"No," he growled. "Shut up, Bulma. I'm _serious_." And there he went again, punishing me, scolding me, putting me in my place. I was getting very hot and bothered. And I felt very confident; perhaps because I took a shot of tequila earlier when Vegeta wasn't looking. And I wanted to touch him, so I did. I leaned closer, and I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him against the wall, so we were were at an angle at which our lovely guests could not see us.

I ran my hands up and down his chest and felt his thumping heartbeat under my fingers. He was glaring at me, but he wasn't fighting me. "Call me your little girl," I whispered, pressing my lips to the hollow of his neck. "Please, Vegeta." I whimpered.

"What the fuck—"

I pushed him against the wall with more force this time, and though I knew it wouldn't hurt him, I could tell it gained his full attention. "Please call me your little girl. I want to be your little girl. Call me your little girl, Vegeta. Make me your little girl. Make me _yours_."

"I fucking...I just…" He looked at me, pleading almost. "Bulma…"

I had to have him. I just _had to have him_. So I went for it, throwing the odds to the heavens; I tilted upwards and pressed my lips to his, feeling his warmth seep into me. And what I thought was going to be a slow, passionate, burning kiss ended up being sheer white hot fire. He whipped me around and thrust me against the wall, nipping carelessly at my jawline and collarbone and neck.

"Fine," he murmured. "You want to play,_ little girl_?"

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks so much for all the reviews from last chapter. I have winter break now, so if you want an update soon, review that much! I'll try to get it down in the next day or so.

Also, I want to address something. I love your criticism, but one thing stood out to me. Bulma's 17, so we obviously can't rush her relationship with someone almost twice her age, you know? And as for the other characters in the story; this story isn't _just _about them. Sure, it focuses on them, but I want to play out Bulma's friendship with Leezy and how her aunt has affected her in her life. I think these are all important ways to create a dynamic character.

Anyway, I really do appreciate all you have to say, but I wanted to clear that up. How do you guys feel about this chapter? What do you want to see next? I'm thinking that Vegeta and Bulma's sexual relationship will be something of a Dom/Sub—what do you think?

Love you all! xx Aisha


	8. Sir

I felt so awkward. We were driving Max and Greg to the airport—apparently they had a redeye to catch en route to California at 1:00 AM. Vegeta was indulging them with pleasantries, discussing the concert and what the best performance was. I had to admit that he was fairly good at networking, despite how much he hated it. His laughter was forced. I knew this because I had made him _actually _laugh, and I could tell his heart just wasn't in it at the moment.

We finally pulled up at the departure gate, and I got out of the car to bid them farewell. Max and I had ended up discussing something or another about _Breaking Bad_, and I had found him to be a fairly nice guy. He pulled me in for a brief, casual hug, and I saw Vegeta tense up out of the corner of my eye. But really...he had no right to be angry.

"It was so nice to meet you, Max!" I told him happily, teetering on the edge of the sidewalk as he pulled his briefcase out of the trunk of Vegeta's car. I nodded at Greg with whom I hadn't conversed much. "You, as well, Greg. Have a safe flight!"

"It was lovely to meet you, Bulma," one of them said, but I wasn't paying enough attention to notice.

"Vegeta!" Max said, clapping him on the back as middle-aged men sometimes do. "I'll be in touch about the partnership. We had a great time!"

They headed off into the terminal, offering us a small wave as they disappeared into the crowd. Vegeta and I wordlessly made our way back into the car, yet this time I took a seat in the front.

I had to say something, didn't I? I mean, we—_I_ had been so close. Clothes were coming off, the bathroom door was closing, when he had just stopped, mumbling something about how this was "_so _wrong" and returning to his guests after brushing himself off. Perhaps I was being delusional, but I couldn't believe he'd been in my grasp and then slipped away so suddenly.

"Fuck, Bulma," he said after a few moments of blaring silence. "Bulma, Bulma, Bulma…"

"What?" I spat, folding my arms across my chest, forcing my cleavage together, which I knew would bother him.

"How did I let that happen? Jesus _fucking _Christ," he roared, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. I was getting a bit freaked out. He wouldn't crash the car...right? I had never seen him in such a chaotic state. He was always reserved, conservative, calm and cool. How does one tame a wild Vegeta?

I reached out hastily to soothingly place a hand on his shoulder, forgetting instantly that I was angry with him. "You need to calm down, Vegeta. Nothing happened, okay? If I disgust you so much, we'll just forget about it."

We arrived at a stop light, so he turned to me to offer me a heated glare. "You think I'm disgusted by you? That would make this a lot easier."

"Well, you must be," I whispered dumbly.

"Bulma, how old are you?" He murmured, his voice now calm, back to normal. My tension depleted slightly.

"I'm 17," I answered, knowing the trap I was about to fall into. "But why does that matter? We obviously...There's obviously _something _between us."

"How old am I?" He continued, ignoring me.

I rolled my eyes. "Vegeta, you need to grow up. Yeah, there's an age difference. But this—it's completely legal. I checked!"

"I saw this coming, you know," he admitted quietly.

"How so?" I replied, even though I had as well. Well, I had at least _hoped _it would happen.

"I tried to ignore you, Bulma. Then one day, your dad called me and invited me over for poker night or some shit because your mother was out with friends, and you were going to be on a date. And for some fucking reason, that pissed me off. And then, we spent the day together, and it took all my willpower not to press you against the car window and put you in your fucking place."

"I've never…" I found myself confessing like the idiot I was. "Never had sex, I mean." I finished, clearing my throat. He looked at me all exasperatedly.

"You're a virgin," he stated instead of asked.

I nodded my head shamefully. "But it doesn't matter to me, Vegeta. I think 'virginity' is just a societal complex, as in it doesn't mean anything to me, so it shouldn't to you."

"Bulma, I can't do this with you. I lost my head back there. You were being all submissive, but we can't do this. I'm friends with you father for fuck's sake. You're in _high school_. We can't, okay?"

"Stop the car, Vegeta."

"No fucking way! I'm taking you home, and I'm not...We're not going to see each other for a long time. Do you understand that?" He ordered, returning to his dominant self briefly. And despite the uncomfortable circumstances, I felt my arousal peak.

"Just let it go…" I whispered suddenly, not looking up from my lap. I felt small and shy and vulnerable, but I didn't let the opportunity escape me. "Why are you beating yourself up about this? I'm just as fucked up as you...That day you came over for tea, I wore that dress for you." I paused. "Can you please stop the car?" I didn't say it in the same way, not as aggressively; I was pleading with him.

I felt the car slow, and then he pulled over the side and turned off the engine. "We don't have to tell anyone," I offered.

He shook his head quietly, but his resilience was wavering.

"Vegeta, I don't want to force you into this. Tell me right here and now, do you want this? Because I do. I've wanted you since the first day I met you."

He didn't say anything for a while. "It's funny when you try to boss me around, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"It is. I've actually never let another woman do that," he told me, undoing his seatbelt and leaning back into the seat. I followed suit, and then we sat in silence for a few minutes.

"It's quite late," I commented, glancing at the clock, which read 12:58 AM. I extracted my phone from my pocket to see what the damage was, as I hadn't checked it in a few hours.

_SMS Text Message from: Eileen/Leezy/The Most Wonderful Person_

**Hey, babe. Was just thinking of you as I do my physics homework lol. Ok fine, I was thinking abt you and Vegeta, and while I really want u to be happy, pls don't do anything you'll regret. Maybe take a beat before u guys do anything together b/c he is much older. U don't have to listen to me, but just know, I love u. **

A steaming pool of regret began forming in the pit of my stomach. Maybe Leezy was right. Maybe I should just go home...I proceeded to the next round of messages from my parents.

_SMS Text Message from: Daddy_

**Bulma, where are you? It's very late. School tmrw.**

_SMS Text Message from: Mom_

**Honey, come home soon! School! Your father and I love you so much. XOXO**

I was seriously considering bailing at this point. My parents were so good to me; they trusted me so much. And Leezy—she was right. I was kind of rushing into this decision, and what if it blew up in my face?

"Are you okay?" Vegeta's rough voice drew me from my contemplation.

"Yeah, I'm good," I told him, sliding my phone back into my pocket. I looked back up at him and noticed that he was a lot closer to me than he'd been before. Our lips were a few millimeters apart, and our eyes were boring into each other. And I realized, I didn't regret this. I couldn't. He was too sexy, too good for me; I probably didn't even deserve him. And even if he had a serious dominance complex, and I, in turn, had a bit of a submissive complex around him, I wanted to plow through our mess. Because he turned me on, and we could talk for a long time, and holy fucking hell, could he ever kiss. "Are _you_?" I asked him.

"No," he said quietly, not moving away from me, though. "Maybe you could fix that…" He whispered suggestively, and he honestly could have asked me to jump off a cliff in that moment, and I would've obliged. His eyes were glazed with lust, so I closed the distance between us and pressed my lips against his hungrily.

He responded so well, with so much aggression, that I was immediately reminded of his controlling state. He grabbed my face and held it between his rough hands and inserted his tongue into my mouth. We battled it out, and he won, of course. His hands grazed my arms, sliding down until they reached my waist, which they encircled. He was uncomfortably bending over the parking brake, so I breathlessly suggested that we move to the back seat. He all but threw me back there. He went out through the car door—a much more civilized approach.

I began to undress myself, but as he joined me in the back, he shook his head. "You don't take them off until I tell you to. You don't do anything unless I tell you to." I nodded like a good little girl, and he smirked.

Our lips resumed their fiery pace, and I began to run my fingers through his thick, gravity-defying hair, moaning carelessly against his mouth. He bit down on my bottom lip, eliciting a whimper of pleasure from me. My hands clumsily found his crotch, and I began to stroke his manhood through his dress pants, and he groaned into our kiss. "Fuck, Bulma, you're too fast...Be patient, little girl."

"God, just fuck me already," I growled.

"No," he said simply, and there was no room for argument in his tone. His eyes were steady, and he held me with his gaze until I nodded meekly. "Now lie back, Bulma. I'm going to tell you exactly what I want you to do for me."

I did as he said and lay back against the black leather seats. I couldn't see him anymore because of my angle and that made me both severely nervous and excited. I suddenly regretted wearing a jumpsuit because I realized they were very similar to scuba-suits in terms of accessibility, which was extremely vital at the moment. Vegeta didn't seem to mind though as I felt him position himself between my clothed legs.

"Bulma," he murmured as he placed a kiss on my inner thigh. _Oh my god_. "I'm not going to fuck you. I'm letting you know now, okay?"

"Okay," I whimpered somehow, even though I really wanted him. "When are you going to?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"You're not to speak unless spoken to—unless you're in pain. Is that understood, Bulma?"

"Yes," I whispered, my heart rate on its way to a record speed.

"But since you didn't know…" he indulged me, pressing himself into my core, "I'm going to fuck you when you deserve it and not a moment before." He smirked down on me, and I shuddered with delicious delight. "Sit up, come here."

I abided by his instructions, and he pulled me into him. Our lips met again, more feverishly this time, and he pushed his tongue to slide along mine again. My hands moved toward his tie, which I endeavored to undo with shaky, nervous hands. He pulled away from me at this attempt and shook his head. "No, Bulma," he whispered against my lips before kissing me again, and I instantly forgot what I was even trying to accomplish. He was so talented. Maybe I sounded dorky thinking that, but I had never been kissed that way: so passionately, so vehemently.

He reached behind me to begin gently pulling the zipper down until the top of my jumpsuit fell to pool around my waist, freeing my breasts to his hungry gaze. I felt really naked—no pun intended—in that moment, so open to him, so subject to whatever he wanted to do to me. He just stared at me for a fleeting moment, so I stared back. His hair was tousled, his shirt and tie messed up, and his lips were bruised and red from the action they were getting. He'd never looked more beautiful and free than he did right then.

"Fuck, I don't know how you're a virgin," he whispered before he closed the distance between us again, kissing me so forcefully it almost hurt. His hands began to explore my body, eventually finding my chest, and I moaned in delight when he squeezed my breasts. He snickered against my lips. "You like that?" He taunted, and I moaned once again to supply him with a response. "What about this?" He asked quietly, leaning down slightly to take one of my erect, pink nipples into his mouth. His tongue caressed it, making it point up even more, and then, he bit down on it, gently at first, and then with more pressure, eliciting another whimper from me. "Oh, fuck, I love that sound from you...You're so fragile."

And in that moment, I knew there was something wrong him and more important, something wrong with me. Because I could not be enjoying this, him, more, and I was never going to have enough of him. He grabbed the fabric of my jumpsuit and pulled it off completely, so I was left vulnerable in only my unattractive, pink and purple panties. I had completely forgotten that I was wearing them and was blushing furiously. Vegeta chuckled when he saw them, toying with them tantalizingly by plucking the waistband.

"You really are a little girl," he stated, and I only nodded because I was completely unable to hold up a conversation with him when he was so dangerously close to my core but not yet touching it.

He stretched out over me and pressed his lips to the valley between my breasts, and then dipped a bit lower to kiss my stomach, and then he was right above my displeasing underwear. He looked up at me with his beautiful yet completely evil, dark eyes and smiled, and it wasn't a smirk but a real smile, and I couldn't help but return it. And then he yanked my panties off and stared at my pussy, breaking our eye contact. "Fuck, you're so wet," he hissed. "And I bet you're tight too."

He leaned forward to slide his tongue along my nether lips, and I began to shake as the pleasure washed over me. "You like that, Bulma?" He whispered as he did it again, and it took all my strength to whimper out a "yes."

"I didn't hear you," he said tauntingly, pulling away from me, much to my displeasure. "When I ask you something, I expect a coherent response, Bulma."

"I'm s-sor—oh, _fuck_!" I choked out as he shoved a finger deep into my dripping entrance. I heard a muffled groan come out of him as he pulled his digit out to lick it seductively.

"You _are _tight," he concluded. "But still," he began, pushing his finger back up there and pumping slightly, and I was absolutely reeling. The pad of his thumb began to prod and rub against my clitoris with the same rhythm as his fingering, and it was too much, all-consuming. I felt deliriously complete. "You haven't answered my question, Bulma. I don't like to be ignored. Do you want me to punish you?"

I shook my head in a negative fashion. "I'm sor—"

"I want you to address me as 'sir,'" he said firmly.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, and I couldn't help but smirk at his pleased expression, which seemed to anger him slightly because he resumed his heavenly ministrations.

"Go on, tell me if you like it, Bulma," he murmured, looming down at me.

"I like it, sir. I like it a fucking lot, sir," I managed to choke out as he continued to pump me with his finger.

"Good girl," he whispered happily. "What about another finger? Do you want me to fuck you with two fingers, or are you too much of a little girl?"

"No, sir, I can handle it," I responded shakily, spreading my legs farther apart for him. He chuckled at my antics; clearly I was very impatient, but who could blame me? "Sir, please." I pleaded, peering up at him with my baby, blue eyes.

He shoved two digits up into my throbbing entrance and pushed me deeper and deeper into oblivion. His thumb was still working wonders with my rose, and I was moaning his name and then correcting myself to "sir" more times than I could count. I couldn't take our separation any longer, so I yanked him down by the tie so we could kiss again, and for the first time in a while, he listened to me and pressed his lips against mine with all the passion he could muster.

"God, you're so…" he looked into my eyes as he continued to push me closer and closer to my breaking point, and boy was I close. "You're so." He finished, and I had no idea what that meant, and I could not care less at the moment, thank you very much.

"Fuck, sir, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I yelped. "Sir, I'm going to come!"

"Good, Bulma, come for me, please. Come for me, Bulma. I want to feel you spill all over my hand, okay?" He whispered into my ear and then tugged on my earlobe roughly with his sharp teeth. And I did as he asked; I'd have done anything he asked in that moment. I came so hard that I thought I might pass out, screaming out his name—to hell with "sir"—and then being silenced by his lips.

He pulled his fingers out of me and sucked on each of them very slowly as he smiled lazily down at me. I returned the smirk, lazy as well, and I didn't think I'd be able to stand for a long time.

"I'm so what?" I asked him when I finally found my voice, which was very hoarse and haggard at this point—you know, as a result of all the screaming and moaning.

"You're so…" he began, pulling me up towards him so he could kiss my neck, and I found myself getting aroused all over again. "_Interesting_."

* * *

><p>AN: I'm so so sorry, guys. I've been having the worst writer's block, and I wanted to do justice by this scene. Thank you for all your reviews, I probably would've taken longer had I not gotten them, but I felt really bad so here you go—chapter 8! I hope you liked it.

Happy new year to all you wonderful people! I hope you had a wonderful and safe NYE, and I wish you a happy 2015!

Please review guys! This was kind of a controversial chapter, so I'd like to know your thoughts. Also, I promise to get another update out very quickly if you leave a review. Scout's honor!

xx Aisha


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